


An Even Footing

by Letterblade



Category: Umineko no Naku Koro ni | When the Seagulls Cry
Genre: Existential Conversation Turned Feelings Jam, Intimacy, Missing Arm Still Missing, Other, Will's Death-Seeking Tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: Sometimes it occurs to Lion that Will is, more or less, from a certain point of view, an angel.





	An Even Footing

**Author's Note:**

> Handwaving an ending that at least somewhat involves reality because I wanted to. Using singular they for Lion because I have opinions. I have some...ridiculously elaborate headcanons about Will, tbh, which I only lightly touch on here.

Sometimes it occurs to Lion that Will is, more or less, from a certain point of view, an angel. In cold technicality, even, not just sentiment. They usually think of it only when the sun catches Will’s gold eyes and turns them into flat coins, or when his lazing on his squashed couch takes on a particular, deep stillness that has nothing to do with sleep.

Only perhaps he’s not anymore, and Lion chews on that for a time before asking him. Without any particular lead-in, because sometimes it’s satisfying to give the man a taste of his own medicine. “If you’ve retired from being an angel, does that make you a demon instead?”

Will blinks at him once and grunts. From Diana, according to certain arcane information Lion’s come by, that’s a sign of affection. From Will, it’s one of the closer things to surprise that he allows himself. “No. ’S not like I fell. Just punted.”

It’s half an hour before Will furnishes any further answer. Lion, at least, has become used to that; there’s an armchair, and an army of books, and Diana occasionally deigning to get within reach. “The agents of the Great Court,” Will starts, and allows Lion a bare pause to notice that he’s talking again. “Aren’t the same class of being as, say, Samael before he fell. And the demons you’ve met, well.” He inclines his head. Clair had certainly given enough clues as to which grimoire Gaap and Ronove had crawled out of. “If the one becomes the other, it’d be through a much more circuitous path, same as anybody could.”

“Ah,” Lion says. “Well, that’s reassuring. Does it change anything about you, existentially, now that it’s official?”

Will gives a slow shrug. “I’m probably less powerful in some ways, but it’s not like I’m any stupider, and that’s what matters. I’m as much a human and as much an idea as I was. Just a different idea.”

He doesn’t give anything more, and Lion senses a riddle. They close the book, keeping place with their finger, and study Will, head titled to one side. Silence hangs for a while, because on the way, Lion takes a mental detour or two. It’s not as if _they_ also aren’t an idea, after all, from certain points of view; the thought isn’t even particularly alarming at this point, compared to quite a few other things, merely strange. “An idea created by your own choices, I hope,” Lion answers at last.

“Mm.” Will tucks his hand behind his head and leans back like he’s about to take a nap. “And yours.”

“Well, good.”

It isn’t for another half hour, at least, until that really, fully sinks in. It comes with memories Lion doesn’t always like to consider, given that they’re accompanied by the stink of blood and the glint of eyes in the dark and the wracking pain of a bullet-blown sternum and two-something-million lives’ worth of despair. Lion’s always known that they would never have survived without Will’s belief. But then what does that say about Will that out-of-time day, bone chewed to the marrow and ready to—to die?

Lion realizes their breath has left them in one shaky gasp and they’re sitting bolt upright, book sliding forgotten out of their lap.

Will doesn’t stir, but one gold eye slits open. “What pinched _your_ butt?”

“That day,” Lion starts, a little breathless. Both of them know what _that day_ means, always. “You…would you have…made it?”

Will pries both eyes open. It’s one of those glances that seems to sort through and catalogue and analyze everything Lion is and thinks and feels, right down to their heart, in a bare second and gentle as a wind through their hair.

“Like I told you before,” Will says softly. “We’re even. You believe me now?”

Lion hears the book drop to the floor. They’ve lost their place. They can work it out later. It doesn’t matter. Lion crosses to the couch in two breathless strides and almost flings themself onto Will, gathering a fistful of his—low-necked, baring his collarbones—shirt. Will makes some low, satisfied noise and slides his single arm round the small of Lion’s back.

“I was so—” Lion swallows hard and bows their head. “I felt so helpless, compared to you. It’s a wretched thing to admit, I know, but. I was. I don’t. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before.” They laugh a little faintly. “I was probably being selfish.”

Will shrugs, a comfortable roll of his rangy body beneath Lion. “You handle danger differently after a lot of field work. ‘Sides, miracles are entitled to be selfish.” His hand slips down and pinches Lion’s ass, just lightly—he’s a lot gentler with it than Lion ever is. Lion squeaks indignantly and can’t even retaliate. At least not on the butt. Then, in a spurt of—annoyance? is that annoyance? do they even have a right to be annoyed about this?—they pinch Will’s right nipple instead.

The yelp is strange gratifying. The reflexive buck that nearly tosses Lion off the couch less so. Will spits out a mouthful of very earthy English swears and makes something that might almost resemble an _effort_ to bite Lion’s nose. Lion sticks a hand between them to fend him off. Will bites their finger instead. “You little _shit_.”

“I thought I was a miracle. But Will, _seriously!_ ”

“You just pinched my nipple, for fuck’s sake, you don’t get to but Will seriously anything,” he grumbles.

“Did you want to die that day?” Lion says in a callous rush. It’s not even the question they want to ask, really. They just, perhaps terribly selfishly, want to hear…

Will goes very still, and his eyes flick down and to the side.

Lion rests their hand over Will’s heart.

“You’re getting a little too good at this,” Will murmurs, and closes his eyes with a sigh. He relaxes under Lion in a few long breaths; there’s an edge of deliberation to it, and of surrender. “Want’s too strong a word,” he says after a while. “If I wanted it that badly, there are plenty easier ways to die. But I’d lost my will to live years ago. I wasn’t even sure what would become of me after my retirement, or whether the SSVD would let me leave alive. I just didn’t care.”

Lion leans down to rest their forehead against Will’s. “And…?”

“You’re merciless,” Will breathes.

Lion doesn’t realize their eyes are watering until they blink and it feels too hot. “I…Will, I. I live for my other selves, and my own self, and my family. I _exist_ to be selfishly happy for other people’s sakes. But in all that, I’ve felt as if I’ve been a burden to _you_. Carried a debt I could never repay, and…and been unable to help the one I…”

Will cups Lion’s cheek in his rough, warm hand, and swipes a thumb under their eye gentle as anything, wiping something away. “You gave me something to live for,” he says, low and almost steady. Lion can feel the heat rising from their face, and does him the grace of not opening his eyes. “Without that, I’d’ve been cat food no matter how I struggled. And I wouldn’t have even cared. So there’s no debt.” His voice gets a touch hoarser—he talks a big game about hearts, can be shockingly sentimental at times, but he’s not always good at handling it when it comes to himself, and it’s irrationally endearing. “This is my heart.”

“Thank you,” Lion whispers. “Thank you, thank you…”

“Haah,” Will murmurs. “Isn’t that my line?”

Lion has nothing to say to that except to take Will’s face in both his hands, gentle but firm, and kiss him. It’s slow, almost reverent, at least until Will gets into the swing of it in his lazy, toothy way. Lion’s head is buzzing— _this is your angel, this is the man whose life you saved, this is the man you love_ —and their heart aches— _lost my will to live years ago, he says, so casually, how could a man this extraordinary be a hollow shell for years…_

Fortunately Will’s blunt fingers slide through the hair at the nape of Lion’s neck, which has a tendency to make them stop thinking. His grip there is steadying, and holds them in the kiss for a long, long while until he finally breaks it off just enough to whisper, baldly, “I love you.”

Lion feels their breath leave them in a rush, the strange heated flutter of sudden nerves. They’re not sure Will had ever said it in so many words before. Not that they’d _doubted_ , not quite, except maybe they had, because they’re like _this_ all of a sudden, after a few small words. That doesn’t bear thinking about. “You too, oh, god, I love you too.”

They have just a good enough view of Will’s face to catch the edge of his smile, a little sharp and lopsided and rarer than gold. “There,” Will murmurs. “Don’t go thinking we’re unfairly balanced again.”

“Nn,” Lion says, slightly disgruntled, and grabs him by the back of the neck—mirroring him almost perfectly, except Lion’s probably holding on tighter. Will doesn’t seem to mind. Will, in fact, makes some low, subliminal noise of interest in the back of his throat, gold eyes narrowing to slits. Lion feels weightless in their now-familiar nest of Will and his couch, and can’t stop kissing him—his temple, his cheekbone, his nose, which earns them a disgruntled huff.

“You’re sickening,” Will mutters fondly.

“You said it first.”

“Emotional blackmail.” Will teases the nape of Lion’s neck with a fingertip—his most callused fingertip, because of _course_ he’s noticed how much they like the roughness of his hands—and Lion melts a little with a shaky gasp. “You satisfied?”

“I’m—ahh—satisfied that we’re on an even footing.” Lion grabs Will by the necklace with their other hand, reeling him in. He’d kept that, wears it always, and Lion still doesn’t know whether it’s a memento of his former office or something else entirely. “Not necessarily with other matters.”

Will gives a slow, lazy, and rather filthy smile. “I could probably help with that. Under one condition: I’m not moving.”

“Bum,” Lion breathes, smiling back wide and giddy, and slides a hand under Will’s shirt and up along the wiry flat of his stomach. On an even footing with a retired angel. There are far, far worse places to be.


End file.
